


We Have Made Mistakes

by ThisShallNeverBeMentioned



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Climbing Class, Everybody lives/nobody dies (except wendigos and the stranger), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mentions of Mental Illness, Minor Angst, Spoilers, takes place after the events of the game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4935565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisShallNeverBeMentioned/pseuds/ThisShallNeverBeMentioned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The people who have been hurt the most are sometimes the most likely to survive, because they've already survived worse.<br/>Or, where Josh survives until dawn and gets himself out of the mines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. alone in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a 'what if Josh rescued himself' and was only meant to be a couple of thousand words. Oops. (also unbeta-ed so oops again if there are any mistakes)
> 
> Edit: LOOK AT THIS [ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE ART ](http://banhmiboy.tumblr.com/post/131915314483/joshs-endings-were-sadly-typical-so-i-thought) by banhmiboy on tumblr <3

 

Hands around his neck, long fingered and strong and slippery from the water, taut grey skin stretched too thin, too thin over too long bones.

_His sister’s hands._

The thought jumps to him in an instant, from the knowledge that she was down here alone so long-

_-we were alone down here-_

-and the horrible figures of his poor sisters coming out of the darkness, reaching for him, calling to him-

- _but you’re here with us now_ -

-black ink in the shape of a butterfly, her first tattoo, she’d been so happy, tried to encourage Beth and Josh to get one too-

- _family_.

“Hannah!” he chokes out.

The shriek near ruptures his eardrums, long and sharp curved teeth, and he’s lifted clear of the water, kicking desperately, _he can’t breathe_ , then lowered again, and the cold of the water sends a shock through him.

He’s dragged through the water, skeletal fingers clenched painfully tight where his neck and shoulder meet, the neck of his shirt twisted up and pulled across his throat. Josh coughs, screams, swallowing the brackish water and choking on it, before he’s pulled up and out of it, and the fabric of his shirt cuts tighter into his windpipe as he’s carried swiftly through the metal door, past the meat hooks – _swaying bodies and viscera hanging in strings_ \- and further on, till he’s not sure whether the darkness is from the lack of light or black spots appearing in his vision.

He might have passed out, briefly, because the next thing he’s aware of is being thrown, tumbling across the hard ground, rocks cutting into his skin wherever it’s not covered by his overalls; he cries out at the harsh landing, and there’s an answering shriek, too close and deafening and inhuman, bouncing back at him from every direction. The echoes fade, and he can hear a scrabbling, the thing – _his sister_ \- that had been carrying him moving away, back through the caves, until all he can hear is the distant drip of water and his own panting breaths.

It’s dark; when he opens his eyes it barely makes a difference, there’s no light, no shapes, he might as well be lying in an endless black space, but he knows he’s still in the caves because the rocks under his cheek are cold and rough. They also smell vaguely like rust and salt.

He stays there a long time. There’s no way of knowing how long; he tried counting the seconds for a brief while, but gave up when he realised it would make no difference knowing. He only moves to roll onto one side, whimpering slightly as it makes his twisted leg throb painfully, and curl up, staring out into the darkness, feeling the cold seep in, and waiting to see something. But no one appears, not Dr Hill, nor his sisters, nor the horrible grey-skinned vision with white, dead eyes and Hannah’s tattoo.

Just more darkness.

 

There’s no one coming this time.

 

-

 

It was supremely satisfying setting up the saw. Josh has loved film sets since he can remember; all the mechanisms that went on behind the scenes, the magic of creating, of making the imaginary come to life. Being able to use what he knows, from being on some of his father’s sets, from all the behind the scenes production he’s seen, to set up his own scene, to create a world of horror and scares, all for the purpose of getting his own back at his friends, is frankly therapeutic. Much more than any of the sessions he’s had to go through, locked up in multiple stuffy offices talking about his childhood and his relationships with people and flipping through random inkblot images all while having to answer the eternal questions of _how does that make you feel?_

Plus, the productivity involved with getting all the details just right, with rigging up lights and puppets and film cameras and hidden speakers, all of it proves to be a perfect distraction. And he actually bothers to take his meds, because he needs to concentrate, needs the focus they bring him, and they work better than any of the others he’s been forced to take most of his life. It’s easy to get excited about it all, to go over his plan and practice till he’s got it down to perfect timing, arranging shots and adding extra bits in when the inspiration hits him.

The saw scenario though, with his own body double and the rigged up blade and the perfect ambience of the shed which makes the recording of his own distorted voice sound like it’s coming from every direction, that one is his personal pride. In hindsight it probably would have gone down better as a finale piece, but he needed to take himself out of the picture early on to be able to pull the strings on the rest of the prank, so it’s a small allowance to make it the first showdown.

And really, it’s a perfect set up for Chris, designed not only to take Josh himself out of the picture, but to send Ashley and Chris reeling for each other, bonding over the tragic loss of their friend and host, and admitting their frankly sickeningly obvious feelings for each other. Josh is nothing if not a great wingman for his best friend. Giving him the main part, giving him the girl, and giving him the glory of being the hero.

When Josh is in the moment though, with his head in place over the gore-filled body he’s made for himself, with Ashley tressed up beside him and screaming and crying, with the voice of the Psycho and the sound of the saw-blade in his ears, and with Chris on the other side of the wire mesh, wide-eyed and distraught with his choice, well, it’s something else entirely for Josh. He lets himself really get into it, to settle into the part, wriggling around for the show, but the way his own voice cracks as he pleads for his life is more than acting.

The spinning serrated edge locking onto the track, Chris yelling, the blade cutting into his body, pig’s blood and offal spraying wide, all of it hits Josh a bit too much, looking down at his own body being torn to shreds gives him an almost phantom pain, and it’s too easy to yell and scream and let his eyes roll back and his head fall to his chest, gurgling like it really is his own blood spilling to the floorboards.

Memories of blood running down his skin onto another floor, bathroom tiles then, and the almost blissful light-headedness and loss of consciousness that followed.

The saw-scene is satisfying, to say the least.

Of course he can’t bask in it for long, there’s more yet to come, more traps and tricks and horror to execute. This time, in a new costume, new character.

Josh is all too happy to let the Psycho take the reigns.

 

-

 

His leg twinges sharply when he jerks awake, but Josh ignores it, scrambling to sit up, wincing as he puts too much weight on his shoulder with the scissor wound, blinking desperately to try and see into the darkness, see _anything_.

Because he’s hearing them again.

The sound of his sister’s voices is as ingrained into his mind as his own, instantly triggering a protective instinct in him, because they’re his little sisters, he’s supposed to protect them, look out for them, keep them safe.

 _He didn’t_.

_“You didn’t save us, Josh.”_

Even accusing, Beth sounds understanding, comforting as she always was, even when berating him for drinking too much or skipping classes. His throat hurts as he shakes his head, croaking out, “No…”

_“Stay with us.”_

“I don’t- no, you-you can’t-”

_“Why did you leave us alone?”_

Their voices don’t sound so close as last time, warped together and grating, something like nails on a chalkboard resonating through their words. He puts his weight on his good leg, struggles upright; it’s harder than it should be but it’s so dark and his head is pounding and he can’t tell which way _is_ up.

_“Why did you leave us?”_

He didn’t, he didn’t know… “I didn’t, I promise… Beth, Hannah, I-I promise I didn’t want-”

_“They took you away from us.”_

They… Sam and Mike, they did, didn’t they? They came to find him, but then Mike had gone under the water and Sam… where had Sam gone?

_“Deep breaths, Josh.”_

There had been a cliff, and Sam had said… she could climb it, that they’d meet up again at the lodge, with the others. She’d said they had to get off the mountain.

_“Josh.”_

“Not real… you’re not real…” He shook his head, and though it made him dizzy, made the pounding in his head worse, it also made the voices fainter, less distinct. He took a deep breath, a careful step forward, hands outstretched, and again, _breath, step, breath, step_ , until his hands met rock, and the darkness wasn’t endless anymore, didn’t stretch every direction, didn’t go on endlessly, because under his fingers was a wall.

He gripped at the rock, leaning into it and taking more deep breaths, letting his mind work.

_Get off the mountain._

That’s what Sam and Mike had been trying to do. Mike had asked for the cable-car key too- before he’d gone under the water.

Josh shook his head harder. Focus, focus, he wanted his focus back. He was cold, his leg hurt, his head hurt, his sister’s voices hovered at the back of his mind, he couldn’t see. But he could feel the rock wall, he could follow it, follow it until it led him back out, out into the mines, out onto the mountain, back to the lodge, back to everyone else.

He didn’t want to stay here.

Forcing his legs to move, keeping on hand outstretched to touch the wall, feeling his way in the dark, eyes straining to see anything, it was enough to demand all of his attention. He had a plan, all he had to do was keep moving, focus on not tripping.

The rock curved sharply, and he followed, the sound of his own shuffling footsteps echoing softly, and when he blinked he almost thought he could see…something. Shapes. Slightly less black shapes against a black background, and then grey, smaller shapes, the curve of his boots taking step after step. Glancing around, he could make out the outline of the narrow walkway he was in, could see the curve of the rough walls, and the blue-grey light of snow as it opened out into a wide and tall and much brighter cavern.

He vaguely remembers walking here before, with Sam and Mike, and as his eyes adjust to the light he recognises the sheer cliff face, the rock wall that Sam had nimbly clambered up, while he and Mike had veered off another way, going away through the mine, through the black water.

Josh shudders.

He doesn’t know for sure if the cliff way will lead him out, if Sam made it up to the top or not, but he’s not going back to the water, nor back to where his sisters had crawled out of the darkness, covered in blood and horrifically skeletal.

He stares up the sharp rock face. Sam climbed it, but she’s more athletic than him, knows how to climb rock walls, to find foot and hand holds and swing herself up, and she wasn’t sporting a twisted leg and a stab wound in one shoulder.

He’s not going back.

Josh takes a deep breath, fits his fingers into the rock and tries to find his grip.

Then he climbs.

 

-

 

It’s exhausting, both physically and mentally. His leg spikes with pain every time he puts too much weight on it, he can only pull himself up higher with one arm, and despite the cold his hands feel too sweaty and slippery, his grip never secure enough, but he’s come too far already, he tells himself, going down would be just as bad.

So he keeps going up.

There’s more light to see by now, at least, the silvery sort of light that washes over the mountain in the early morning, before the sun climbs high enough to turn the snow and trees gold. He can clearly see where to place his feet as he climbs, and it urges him on, gives him another run of energy because he must be near the top now.

He lunges for a new handhold, and there’s a terrible moment when his fingers slip on it and he thinks offhandedly that the fall will definitely kill him this time, but he manages to readjust and pull himself up, and when he reaches next his hand hits thin air. Josh looks up and the top of the cliff is _right there_ , snow built up on the ledge that falls on him a little when he dusts it away for a final handhold. Carefully, he pulls as much of himself as he can, muscles straining, and swings his uninjured leg up to the side. He misses the first time, but the second time he hooks it over the edge, and from there he can roll himself over and into the snow, on solid ground, staring up at the washed out blue of the morning sky.

The snow is cold but soft and soothing against the back of his neck, a welcome change from the hard rock of the caves, and he lets out a breathless wheeze that holds the hint of a relieved laugh in it. He lies there until he’s caught his breath and his fingers start to go numb from being dug into the snow, and he slowly pushes himself upright.

The snowstorm from the night has waned; Josh can hear the few birds that stick around the forest during winter starting to wake up, but there’s no wind, and the blanket of snow softens all other sounds. It’s calm, so familiar to him from years of coming here for vacation, waking up early with Beth and Hannah and sneaking out to have snowball fights and jump into snow drifts before breakfast. The mountain had always been a happy place, a safe place for him, where the only people around had been his family and then his friends, as he’d got older. Nothing but good memories.

Up until last year. Until last night.

His cheeks sting from the cold, and from the few tears that run down his face and across scratches he’s got from the caves, across the deepest cut from his sister’s clawed hand.

_Not his sister anymore._

Josh isn’t completely sure of that, because when he’d recognised the butterfly on the creature’s shoulder, she’d recognised him, but she’d still hurt him, and his sisters never hurt him, not physically. The stretched skin, the too-long limbs, skull like face and dead eyes, nothing like his sister but everything like his nightmares, like the awful visions he’d seen in the caves.

He can’t think about it, because he can’t think clearly when it comes to his sisters, and if he stops thinking he won’t keep moving, and he has to. He has a plan. Get back to the lodge. Get back to the others.

Get off the mountain.

It’s not safe anymore.

Josh stands up, steps away from the cliff, and casts his gaze around, trying to pick out landmarks, to figure out where he is. The sun’s starting to crest the side of the mountain now, and though there’s no sign of the radio tower, he knows the mine stretches to the south-west of the mountain, so he has to go north-east to find the lodge.

Satisfied with his deduction, he glances just once back over his shoulder, silently thinks _goodbye_ , and then he sets off towards the trees, towards the rising run.

 

-

 

It’s a couple of days before the planned trip to the lodge that he starts skipping his meds. It’s frustration at first, because they’d been working so well so far, but recently the nightmares have been coming back, stronger and more real, and seeping into his mind while he’s awake. He can’t afford to take more though, knows that while the correct dosage makes him focused, more will only make him drowsy and sluggish, and he needs to be sharp for his prank to work.

He still has a few heavy-duty sleeping pills left though, so he uses those when he’s too exhausted to concentrate, for a few hours of dreamless sleep, and when he’s awake he’s a bit jittery but it’s manageable. Enough that when he arrives at the lodge, hours before any of the others are due, the inspiration to send out a quick video to the others hits him. It’s something that he laughs to himself over, his choice of wording, _‘spend some quality time with each and every one of you’_ , thinking about everything he’d spent almost four months setting up, but when he talks about his sisters, his mind replays when he’d finally woken up and found out what happened. It had almost frozen his words, and he’d had to shake himself into continuing, summoning a smile and a laugh that sounded wrong even to his own ears.

It had only become worse as the night wore on.

Acting normal had been almost harder than acting the Psycho, if only because he was eager to begin, but he’d played his part, kept his poker face, and had them all fooled. The concern from Chris had set him a little on edge, and he’d brushed off Chris’s attempt to talk and fell back onto humour, riling his best friend up and teasing him about Ashley, because that way it was easier. Sam had been harder to pretend with, didn’t share the same humour Josh had with Chris so he couldn’t laugh it off, but he’d done his best to avoid saying too much. Chris’s little prank with the monk’s costume had just added to his own alibi, added a little bit extra to the night’s atmosphere.

He almost wished he’d gotten Chris in on the prank, but in the end the whole thing was Josh’s scene, Josh’s set up, and Chris would do much better in the part Josh had picked out for him.

He started setting the scenes, started the cameras rolling, and it was going exactly how he’d planned, lights camera action!

Then the night fell apart.

His friends hadn’t acted how he’d wanted them too, split off in ways he hadn’t considered, he couldn’t keep track of them all, but he’d tried to keep control. It had forced him to reveal himself a little earlier, and with some of the group missing from his grand reveal it had felt flat, not as much of a high as he’d expected.

They didn’t get it.

He didn’t understand why they didn’t _get it_.

Things stopped seeming real, stopped feeling right, his hands were tied up and he’d been accused of more than he’d thought he had planned. It was all supposed to be a joke, no one was supposed to actually _get hurt_.

But it had been going off the rails all night, anger rising up in him without his meds to keep it down, getting carried away in the terror and screams and _he’d loved it_.

Mike hit him. Yelled that Jess was dead. Nobody knew where Matt or Emily were, and they’d all stared at him like he could do that, like he could be in several places at once and orchestrate something so horrible. And he couldn’t be completely sure because he had, hadn’t he? He’d planned it all. Yet it didn’t feel right. He tried to say so but they wouldn’t _listen_.

Chris looking at him like he didn’t even know Josh had hurt. So had the plastic ties around his wrist and the way Chris and Mike had talked around him, assuming so much about him, and _how could they assume to know what it was like for him?_ They didn’t see the things he saw.

Until pale eyes and sharp teeth and claws and _pain_ , more pain.

Maybe they did see.

 

-

 

Every step he takes through the trees, his mind feels clearer.

The sun has properly risen now, casting soft shadows, and the new snow has covered any other footsteps that might have been on the paths. It’s about fifteen minutes from the lodge to the cabin, he knows, but he was much further out than that, and he’s slowed down by his leg and exhaustion.

Get to the lodge.

Find the others.

Get off the mountain.

He has to keep reminding himself, and thankfully it gets easier, becomes a mantra inside his head. There’s something to be said about the cold, because it doesn’t leave much space for any other thoughts to invade, and he shivers less if he keeps walking, keeps his circulation up.

When he comes to one of the many half-frozen pools, he chooses to skirt around it; he’s had enough bad experiences with water for him to want to avoid it like the plague. A hot shower, though, he could probably handle that. He’d even settle for tepid.

It’s been a while since he was warm.

He wrinkles his nose when the faint smell of smoke hits him, quickly looks around, but there’s no distinctive crackle of trees burning, nor can he see any flames, but above the tree line there’s a brownish plume coming from the direction he’s walking towards.

Josh stops, shifts his weight, but forward is all he’s got, so he starts walking again.

Within five minutes he’s standing in front of the lodge. Or at least, what’s left of it.

The whole thing is little more than a blackened shell, still burning in places, and there’s half-burnt pieces of wood lying all around where it used to stand. Staring at it, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that it’s just _gone_ , he thinks he should feel something. It was a second home to him, after all, but considering all that’s happened, he can’t find it in him to drum up any sort of reaction.

A horrible thought hits him that it could be more than the lodge that burnt up, that any of the others could have been inside, but there are footprints in the snow here, lots of them, all crossing over each other and crowded together.

Yet there’s no one here.

Josh lets himself sink down to his knees, close enough that the heat from the smouldering wreckage reaches him, but not so close that the smoke can choke him.

_What now?_

 

-

 

There had been only a handful of times in Josh’s life when Chris got properly fed up with him. They shared so much of the same likes, similar taste in movies, same sense of slightly twisted humour, and though Josh knew he liked to take it a little bit further than Chris, Chris was usually there with him every step of the way.

Most of the time.

When Josh nicked his new phone and hid it, feigned ignorance for over a day, and finally owned up after Chris started pulling his entire room apart, that had been worthy of a cold shoulder. Chris had kicked him out of the house, ignored him for a full day, and then promptly emailed him a link to an online quiz titled ‘How Much Of A Jerk Are You?’

Josh had sent back a link to the music video of Dennis Leary’s ‘I’m An Asshole’ and that had been that.

The time when Josh had gone into extreme graphic detail about what he’d like to do to one of the girls in class, Chris had just said a simple, _“Dude, no.”_ and Josh toned it down. (He still uses his gift for gab to wind Chris up, but never goes too far.)

After his sisters, Chris had called up to check on him, and Josh had been between two different medications and admittedly a bit more cruel than he’d meant to be, taking out what he could on his friend. It had taken a couple of days before Josh could bring himself to call back and apologise, and Chris had told him he got it.

There was never a time when he would have thought Chris wouldn’t be able to forgive him. They’d been best friends too long, been through too much, knew more about each other than anyone else in the world.

 

When Chris leaves him trussed up in the shed, cheek smarting from the punch Chris had thrown at him earlier, Josh wonders if he’s finally done enough to drive a wedge -scratch that- a mountain between them.

 

-

 

The lodge finally stops burning. There’s still smoke pouring off it, drifting up into the sky, and the sun is well above the mountain now, and Josh still doesn’t quite know what to do.

He doesn’t know what happened, what could have caused the lodge to burn down, doesn’t know if it was done on purpose, doesn’t know why whoever was here left.

_Without him._

He can’t really blame them for leaving without looking for him. Wishes he could, but he’s not sure if he has a friend in any of them anymore, because with the light of day has come some clarity to how some of what he’d done had been a little on the extreme side.

The idea behind the whole plan, to shake his friends up and give them a little taste of what it must have been like for his sisters – _the nightmare visions of Hannah and Beth, encouraging him, telling him to make them feel how they felt_ \- he’s still convinced it could have been a great prank, would have made a great video for the internet, maybe might have given him the drive to give college another try, apply to a film school this time, or skip it all together and just go on to make his next big hit. To get on with his messed up life, to get some form of closure.

If it hadn’t gone awry…

If he hadn’t let his anger get the better of him, hadn’t punched Ashley, had kept a better eye on Mike and Jess, hadn’t gone so far in trying to freak Sam out, had been able to predict better what Matt and Emily would have done, hadn’t thrown the choice of life and death onto Chris.

If, if, if…

His head hurts.

Josh’s limbs are stiff when he pulls himself to his feet again, and he staggers a little, has to steady himself again the trunk of a tree.

What now?

_Keep going._

There’s not much else he can do. The temptation to lie down and curl up, to just give up and let himself sleep, no matter what nightmares might come, swims across his mind. But if he’d wanted to do that, he should never have left the cave. Never let it be said Josh Washington did anything half-assed.

It’s a long way to the cable-car station, longer still to walk down the mountain. If he’s lucky there’ll be a spare key in one of the filing cabinets at the station, if not, then at least it’ll be a place to rest.

He starts walking.

 

-

 

He entertains himself by practicing apologies.

It’s not so much entertaining as it is distracting, but it’s good enough, and he feels like he’s gone over just about every scenario that could occur in his head, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

He just hopes no one hits him again.

 

-

 

There’s a spare key taped under the control panel in the station.

The cable-car wire doesn’t snap and send him to his death, and when he reaches the bottom and tries the landline hooked up there, there’s a dial tone.

First number he tries is his dad’s mobile, but it rings out and goes to voicemail, and Josh can’t be bothered to leave a message. His dad’s probably halfway across the country or around the world at the moment anyway, and he doesn’t think he can bear to ring his mom when all he’d be able to tell her is that he messed up. Again.

Without thinking he punches in another number, but hangs up before it’s even started to ring, screwing up his face and taking deep breaths, because no, _calling Beth’s mobile isn’t a good idea either._ Hasn’t been a possibility for a year now.

He tries not to think about the mines, tries not to panic, and slowly opens his eyes. Dials the only other number he knows off by heart.

_“Hi, this is Chris’s phone, if you’re listening to this I’m either in class or my battery’s dead, so leave a message and I’ll get back to you._

_…that was terrible.”_

Josh can’t help but snort a laugh at the end, at the way Chris’s voice had trailed off, and how just before the recorded message cuts off he can hear himself in the background, laughing just like he is now.

He chokes a little on his next breath, and the phone beeps, indicating he can start to leave a message.

“…Chris, I-” he starts, and his own voice sounds awful, cracked and hoarse, and he doesn’t know where to start. “Fuck, man, I’m- I’m so fucking sorry… Chris I’m _sorry_ , man, I never- it- I never wanted it to go that…”

He knows he should be saying something else, should be asking for someone, anyone to come and get him, but there’s a voice in his head that’s getting louder and louder, screaming _selfish, selfish, selfish_ and he can’t bring himself to force the words out, can’t breath properly, and all he can do is repeat himself, even when the phone beeps again and the call goes dead.

“ _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry,”_

 

-

 

It’s hell on his shoulder and leg to scale the rock beside the main gate, and he practically falls over to the other side, thanking any higher being that’s listening for the snow that softens his landing, and for the relatively easy walk to the road. There’s never much traffic along here, the bus only ever comes by twice a day, once in the morning and once late in the evening, and judging by the sun it’s still early afternoon.

He tries not to think about the gnawing in his stomach and how his arm is starting to go numb from the shoulder down.

Walks along the side of the road, heading for the nearest town, doesn’t think about anything but lifting one foot and putting it ahead of the other.

The sun sinks lower.

He walks.

 

-

 

Josh had been seven when he’d gotten lost on the mountain.

He and his sisters had been playing hide and seek in the house, and when it was his turn to hide, he’s figured the perfect hiding spot was where no one would ever think to look.

So he’d chosen a random direction and sprinted off as fast as he could, stopped by a fallen log and ducked down behind it, grin splitting his face and confident that he’d easily win the game, and forever more be the champion of hiding.

He’d waited as long as he could, before he started getting restless, and hungry, and impatient for one of his sisters to call out that he’d won so he could move and maybe get something to eat.

When the minutes ticked by, and still no one called out, he decided that they’d have to know he’d won, but were just stubborn in admitting it, were maybe eating lunch without him, and so he stood up from his hiding spot, jumped over the log, and set off.

As he’d walked, his stomach had growled, and when the lodge still hadn’t come into view, when the realisation hit that he wasn’t actually sure whether he was going in the right direction, he panicked.

He’d quickly backtracked, figuring if he could find the log again he could try again, pick the right direction.

He hadn’t found the log.

He called out, but his small voice just echoed back at him, and soon his breath was coming too short and he couldn’t see through the blur of tears in his eyes, and he’d run and run until he’d tripped and fell into the floor of pine needles, convinced that no one would ever find him, that no one even wanted to.

His parents had found him curled up on the ground, and Josh had clung to them and his sisters, unable to stop crying.

He’d only been gone for half an hour, but at the time it was the longest and most terrifying time of his life.

The next day his dad had taught him how to use a compass, how to pick out landmarks and track animals and navigate by the sun, and Josh had grown up knowing how to find his way through the forest, how to survive in the wilderness, and how to keep calm and keep going, because eventually someone would find you.

 

-

 

It’s past dusk when a pickup truck stops on the side of the road ahead of him.

He’d seen maybe one or two cars since he’d started walking, but they hadn’t stopped when he tried to wave them down, and when he’d heard the truck’s engine behind him he’d only half-heartedly stuck out an arm, and been surprised but relieved when it stopped.

He limps up to the passenger side, and the old man at the wheel looks back at him consideringly.

“Need a lift, kid?” he asks after a moment, eyes raking over the bloody and beaten up state Josh must make.

Josh tries to smile, fatigue pulling at his limbs, and he can almost feel the bags under his eyes. “If it’s not any trouble.”

The old man gestures for him to climb in, asks him where he’s headed, and when Josh says Blackwood Pines, the old man smiles back at him and says that’s where he lives.

He’s grateful that the man doesn’t ask questions, beyond a simple, “Got a name?” and a nod of understanding when Josh tells him.

“Blackwood Mountain's not the best place to be at night.” Is all he says, and Josh can’t but nod and agree with him.

Josh tries to keep his eyes open, but after so long on his feet, the slightly bumpy seat of the truck feels like heaven, and he dozes, waking in starts to different views of the road illuminated by headlights, and the forest of trees on either side starts to thin.

He wakes up again when the truck’s pulling to a stop, blinks sore eyes in the light of an all-night convenience store, and when he turns to thank the man for the lift he’s surprised by the sight of him holding out a ten-dollar note.

“Get yourself something to eat, Joshua.” He says gruffly, and when Josh doesn’t move to take the money the man pushes it into his fingers, waves away Josh’s soft thank you. “A little kindness doesn’t cost much in this world.”

The truck pulls away back onto the road, and Josh watches it until he can’t see the rear lights anymore, before he goes into the store.

He ends up buying a pre-wrapped sandwich, wolfing it down and avoiding the pitying eyes of the cashier, and then he uses some of the change he has left to make a call from the phone box outside.

It rings so long he considers hanging up and pressing the refund button, but finally, _finally_ , the line clicks into a connection, and a tired voice comes through the speaker.

“ _Hello?_ ”

Josh can’t speak, can almost feel spindly skeletal fingers closed around his throat and keeping him from making a sound, but he’s too exhausted to have another panic attack, and all that escapes him is an odd whimpering breath.

There’s silence on the other end, and then, hesitantly, “ _Josh?_ ”

He tries not to let out a sob, half succeeds, and he finally finds his voice, lets out a shaky, “Hey bro…”

_“Fuck, Josh, oh my god, you’re- are you okay?! Where are you, man?”_

“I’m… Blackwood Pines, pretty sure… at a goddamn convenience store. Chris…”

 _“Josh, man, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice, and I am_ sosorry _bro, I-I tried to come back for you, but the Wendigo-”_

Another voice comes through, slightly muffled in the background.

_“Chris? Who’s-?”_

_“It’s him, it’s Josh, Sam, he’s alive-”_

_“Where is he?”_

_“Here, somewhere, hang on- Josh?”_ Chris’s voice comes back stronger, higher and slightly shaky like it gets when he’s on edge, and Josh forgets to answer for a moment, just listening to his voice, letting it wash over him, and now he knows Sam made it too, maybe they all did. _“Josh?”_

“Here…” he breathes, leaning against the wall of the phone booth. Fuck, he’s tired. “I’m here…”

_“Josh, where are you exactly? We’ll come get you.”_

“Right here, Christopher, I’ll always be right here.”

_“You said a convenience store, right Josh? Is there a street name or- give me something, bro, c’mon.”_

Josh takes a deep breath, looks out, searches for a sign, but there’s nothing, and he could go and ask the cashier in the store but that would involve leaving the phone, leaving Chris’s voice. There’s a gas station down the street a little ways, he can see the lit up sign advertising the fuel prices.

“Gas station nearby.” He murmurs into the phone, and it starts making a noise to let him his time’s almost up. “Chris, I’m sorry…”

_“It’s okay, just hold on, Josh, we’re-”_

The line cuts out, and Josh lets the receiver drop, lets himself slide down to the floor of the booth.

 

A car pulls up an indecipherable amount of time later, the sound of doors opening and running footsteps, and voices calling. Gravel crunches as someone skids to a stop beside him, and hands grip his shoulders, shake lightly.

“Josh!”

Despite how exhausted he feels, a smile pulls at his lips, and he feels the hands move, one up to his cheek without the long cut on it, the other gently curled at the join of his neck and shoulder. “Chris…”

“We’ve got you, bro, I’ve got you.” Chris’s voice becomes slightly less panicked, and his hands shift to one side, slide around Josh’s waist and lift him up, another pair of hands on him and another shoulder propped under his.

“You’re okay, Josh.” Sam’s voice, but it’s not Sam who’s helping him stumble along on his other side. Chris is almost exactly his height, but the other person’s taller, stronger but a little more awkward with Josh’s arm pulled over their shoulders.

“Okay, in we go…” He’s helped into a car set, most likely the back, Chris pulling him in after him. “It’s okay, I’ve got him.”

“You sure?” the third voice asks, and Josh vaguely realises it’s Mike.

“Yeah, we’re fine.”

Chris arranges Josh in his seat, straps him in, and Josh feels someone else get in on his other side, a hand on his arm.

“Josh? How you doing?” Sam asks, and Josh lolls his head in her direction.

“Terrific, Sammy.” He says, and he means it.

Two more doors close, the car starts, and Josh lets himself lean against Chris’s shoulder while they drive to who knows where, doesn’t care, because he’s finally found. Plan accomplished. Get off the mountain. Find the others.

He sleeps.

 


	2. how badly i have let you down

 

The lodge goes up in flames, ghoulish shrieks of the Wendigos trapped inside, bits of burning rubble in the snow around them, and the _whoomp-whoomp_ of the helicopters coming over the side of the mountain, silhouetted in the orange of dawn.

Chris can’t speak, none of the others seem to be able to either; he’s half convinced it’s all some horrible nightmare, can barely believe after everything that had happened that they’d made it out, they’d made it to dawn, that it was _over_.

_Not all of them._

He swallows reflexively, the dryness and the smoke making his throat click, and glances around, quickly counting the other figures on the ground with him.

Sam, picking herself up and Mike grabbing her arm to steady her, Emily behind him with a haunted look in her eyes, Ashley still on the ground with her arms around her knees and her head down. Four.

A shout, and Matt comes limping out of the tree line, holding up Jess next to him, and she looks like a walking mess of blood and bruises, unfocused and doesn’t seem to react even when Mike runs over to her. Six.

His ankle is protesting at the amount of running he’s done on it, at the way he now spins around, eyes straining, searching for the last figure and finding no one there.

Seven.

One missing.

The choppers land where they can in the small open spaces between trees. Rangers step out, and Chris recognises the Blackwood Pines Sheriff, organising them all, and when the small paramedic team comes forward Mike pushes Jess to the front. Silver shock blankets get passed around, then bottles of water, and they’re herded in smaller groups towards different choppers. Ashley steps up beside him and he gently bumps her shoulder, getting a shadow of a smile in return. He understands the lack of anything more, he can’t really focus either, the events of the night catching up with him.

It doesn’t seem real, none of it does.

He hesitates before getting in the chopper, hears the Sheriff asking Mike if there was anyone else up there with them, looks over and catches Sam’s eye.

“There… there was one more, but he- he didn’t make it.”

Sam looks at him, and beyond the shutters in her eyes, there’s something else, an apology. There had been no time to talk near the end there, one minute he, Ashley and Emily had been in the basement, the next they’d heard the ear-splitting shrieking and they’d been running for their lives yet again. Passing Mike and Sam on the stairs, the three Wendigos catching up to them in the main room of the lodge, freezing in place with his heartbeat in his throat, and taking the first chance he could to run out the front door. He hadn’t thought to ask, hadn’t realised they weren’t all there.

One of the rangers has a hand on his arm, trying to encourage him to get into the chopper, but he shakes it off, turning to look at the paths through the forest, not really expecting to see anything but hoping against all reasonable hope for _something_.

_“I let him down.”_

The other choppers are taking off, and the ranger is talking to him, saying they have to leave now, and Chris just stares out at the snow and the trees and the mountain shape, picturesque in the light of day, a contradiction against the horror he’s seen.

He hates this mountain.

“Chris.”

Ashley’s voice, soft, and he finally turns back. She’s strapped into one of the seats, and she looks so small, the bruise around her eye dark and mottled and the blood stains covering her clothes. And he feels responsible, feels like he could have stopped everything before it started, feels like he could have done something more.

He knows it’s not just him at fault, knows they’ve all done wrong, and knows it’s all tied up with the evil of the mountain.

He wishes none of them had come back.

Chris lets himself be strapped in to a seat, nurses the bottle of water he’s given, and while Ashley keeps her head hung low, staring at her knees as the chopper lifts off, he keeps his eyes on the mountain.

He’s not sure what he’s hoping to see. There’s nothing _to_ see anyway, from their height and angle, just the way the smoke from the lodge becomes a tiny grey-brown streak reaching up into the sky, the way the forest all blends together. The only thing that doesn’t seem to get smaller is the mountain.

_“I swear it gets bigger every year.”_

All too soon though, the chopper turns and he can’t see any of it anymore, and it feels like he’s failed all over again.

 

-

 

They’re all hurried off the helicopters and into the station as soon as they land, all given a once over, anything they have in their pockets are taken, Jess and Matt are rushed off to a medical room, and then Ashley and Emily and him are taken straight through to individual interview rooms.

He tells them what he can, what he knows, and they misunderstand him when he mentions the Wendigos and instead latch onto questioning him about the stranger. They look unconvinced when he insists that the man was trying to save them, and when Chris tries to ask about returning to the mountain they usher him out.

Ashley and Sam are the only two around when he’s taken to a waiting room, and they’re given food and told to wait, to write down their parent's contact details and wait.

Sam gets called in for questioning, and Ashley curls up in her chair. Chris can’t think of anything to say, and so he stares unfocused at the muted TV mounted on the wall, some morning news program with big fake smiles and bright coloured backdrops.

The day passes, they’re told that their parents have been made aware of the situation, are allowed to reassure them over the station landline, and they’re called back in a few more times to answer more questions. Mike and Sam are gone the longest, Jess is still in the medic room, but Matt and Emily come back and join them in the waiting room, and they sit wrapped up together.

None of them speak much.

Late afternoon, they’re given their possessions back. Chris’s phone is dead, and one of the rangers lends him a charging cable, which then gets passed around the group.

Mike walks in while they’re eating some semblance of an early dinner, frozen meals heated up in the microwave. Emily makes a show of turning her back to him, leaning more into Matt’s space, and Chris can’t blame her. He turns to him, opens his mouth to ask, but the exhaustion is clear on Mike’s face too, as much as any of them, and the simmering accusations that have been building in the back of his mind vanish.

Instead, he leans forward, and he knows Mike’s probably been answering this question over and over for the past few hours, Chris wants, _needs_ to hear it.

“Mike, what… what happened down there?”

To Mike’s credit, when he meets Chris’s eyes, he seems to know immediately exactly what’s being asked, and there’s no defiance, no defence in his answer, but there’s a whole lot of regret. “It took him, there was nothing… ‘m sorry, man.”

And Chris just nods and lets his head drop into his hands, because he’d known, of course he’d known, but knowing does nothing to lessen the horrible vice around his ribcage, nor the sinking sick feeling in his stomach.

The way his eyes sting.

 

-

 

His knuckles sting immediately after; Chris isn’t a violent person, prefers to avoid fights, and the most physical action he gets is when he and Josh play wrestle. He doesn’t think he’s thrown a proper punch since the time he and Josh got into a scruff with some other boys in tenth grade.

It hadn’t even made him feel better. He thought it would, throwing back at Josh what he’d thrown at Ashley, incredulous anger at that more than anything, because you just don’t hit a girl.

But the noise Josh makes when he collapses to the ground, unable to stop his fall with his hands tied behind his back, all Chris feels is guilt.

Josh is sick, has been sick for a long time, and though he’d never told Chris the full extent of it, there was an understanding between them. Josh didn’t care about tossing back his meds in front of Chris, liked to joke about it when he was having a bad day, and Chris would joke right back, because it put Josh at ease. Josh trusted him with his bad side, and Chris in turn made sure he deserved that trust. They were best friends.

He’d never expected the cruelty of the prank Josh had pulled on them, never seen it coming. Felt betrayed.

And yet, he couldn’t quite keep the anger up, couldn’t ignore the sick feeling in his gut every time Mike shoved Josh down, and winced at the cracked tone of Josh’s voice. The switch between the almost cutesy mocking voice, and the harsh growls and insults spilling from Josh’s lips, taunting and malicious.

Josh was always good at spinning his words and talking his way around situations, but at that moment, all the vitriol barely covered the hurt behind the words.

But the situation being what it was, tensions and tempers running high, adrenaline driving them to slightly extreme measures of their own, Chris had shoved down the unease, the worry, let Mike call the shots on how they dealt with Josh.

Knocking the gun out of Mike’s hands had been the only concession, because there were some things that he couldn’t let go by.

When he’d gone back to the lodge to check on the girls, he hadn’t spared a second glance for Josh. Pushed out the thought that maybe he should have switched places with Mike, should have been the one to watch over his best friend instead.

And so the last time Chris had seen him that night had been nothing but a passing glimpse, Josh looking for all the world like a kid caught in his dad’s clothes, put in the corner for picking on the other kids, time-out to think about what he’d done, why he’d done wrong.

He should have looked back.

 

-

 

There’s a missed call on his phone. Several, in fact, the most recent few from his parents, time stamped before he’d talked to them on the station’s landline, so he doesn’t worry about those ones. Then there’s one from one of his programming friends, and one from a number he doesn’t recognise. It’s a landline, judging by the number, and it matches up with the voicemail alert he’s got but he just…can’t bring himself to listen to it right now.

He’s been scrolling through his phone by way of distraction, deleting old messages and calendar reminders, flipping through the random notes he’s made about this or that assignment for class. The camera roll had seemed a good idea until he’d got a few photos in, Josh’s weirdly angled selfie in a wolfman costume from Halloween, grin wide on his face but black bags under his eyes, all of it a bit too much.

Angry birds is mindless enough to let him just drift, awkwardly and uncomfortably folded into his chair, tired but unwilling to sleep, too much in his brain that he’ll overanalyse if he lets himself think.

He’s been called in for questioning twice more, still hasn’t been asked anything about the Wendigos, though he knows the others must have mentioned the creatures too. Josh becomes the main line of questioning in the latest session, and Chris tells them nothing beyond confirming that yes, Josh had been the one to organise the whole getaway to the mountain, and yes he’d set up a prank for them that might have gone a bit far but he’d never want to really _hurt_ anyone. The slightly doubtful look on the interrogating officer’s face had made a dull anger rise under his skin, and the questions about Josh’s state of mind, about the long-term psychological conditions, all sound too much like accusations. Chris does his best to explain it all calmly, can tell how defensive his answers start to sound, but he refuses to let the officer trap him into putting Josh in the position of _any_ sort of blame.

Josh has been looking out for him most of his life, the least he can do is protect him now.

_Even if it is too late._

He doesn’t know if the others with him in the waiting room are sleeping, or if they’re just pretending, eyes shut to discourage being engaged in conversation, but minds and bodies on high alert, a lingering survival instinct they’ve all developed from their night on the mountain. Keep still, keep quiet, don’t let your guard down.

They’re not fighting the monsters in the caves anymore, just the ones behind their eyes.

 

-

 

When Josh first starts pulling away after his sisters disappearance, Chris does his best to keep them in contact, checking in on him via text and multiple calls. Talks about new film productions, about some new elaborate prank video he’s seen online, about the things happening at his college, everything they’d normally talk about, even his attempts with Ashley, which Josh had always been so keen on encouraging.

Josh is quieter, his laughter strained, and he does more listening than talking, but as long as he can get Josh to laugh at least once per call, Chris figures it’s enough.

He never pushes Josh to talk about what he’s thinking of, how he’s feeling, knows Josh gets enough of that at his therapy sessions, but the few times the nightmares or the memories of the night come up, Chris listens. Makes sure Josh knows that what happened was the most awful accident, but an accident nonetheless. Throwing blame around, no matter how deserved it might be –and that’s something Chris can’t wrap his own head around, how so many of his friends could have gone with such a horrible idea, especially on Hannah, especially _Ashley’s_ involvement, can’t understand how none of them thought to put a stop to it, stop the twins running off into the snowstorm that night, or at least go after them- throwing blame won’t bring Hannah and Beth back.

And Chris knows Josh blames himself a little, for not being conscious to stop it happening, and Chris wishes that neither of them had drunk so much that night, but there’s nothing that can be done now.

 _It’s not your fault_. Josh never says a word when Chris tells him that.

Then there’s the one time that Josh blows up at him over the phone, calls him pathetic and weak and a whole lot of other things that hit far too hard for Chris to just brush off. He knows Josh is hurting, but he’s more than a little hurt himself that it’s being taken out on him.

He hangs up on Josh, hurt, and almost calls one of their other friends, someone else who was there that night, to rant about it, but in the end decides against it, simmers and messes up several lines of easy programming when he tries to work.

Of course Josh calls him back a couple of days after, apologising in such a small and wrecked voice, and Chris forgives him in under a second.

He does ease on the checking up on Josh, though.

When it’s not Chris making the effort to keep in touch, the amount of communication between them breaks down. It’s probably the least they’ve been in contact since third grade, but with classes and tutorials and hanging out with Ashley and other friends, time passes quickly, and sometimes weeks go by without him and Josh talking.

A few months of sporadic contact on, Josh calls him up out of the blue, as animated and excited as Chris has ever heard him, and tells him that the Annual Winter Getaway is still on. And Chris is just so glad to hear his best friend sounding so happy again that he doesn’t question it, doesn’t pick up on the almost manic quality of Josh’s voice, instead excitedly talks with Josh about the assortment of fun and games they could get up to while at the Washington Lodge. Josh talks, and talks, and Chris lets him, encourages him, and probably agrees a bit too readily with everything Josh suggests.

Eventually, Josh runs out of breath, there’s a lull in the call, and Chris is so tempted to say something sappy like how good it is to hear Josh sounding like himself again, or that he’s missed talking with his best friend. But then Josh launches into a barrage of questions about how Chris is going with Ashley, and Chris plays it all up just to give Josh more fuel for his teasing, because he’s _missed_ it. He ends up skipping one of his afternoon tutorials, talking about anything and everything, and it’s decidedly worth it.

They don’t talk quite as much or as consistently as they used to, but it’s a lot more than it had been over the last few months, and Josh sounds _normal_ each time, whether they talk for ten minutes or four hours. Chris takes what he can get.

In hindsight, there had been little tells that Chris should have picked up on, but Josh has always been a good liar, a great actor, and Chris was too caught up to pick up on the little oddities.

Maybe he hadn’t wanted to.

 

-

 

Sam walks into their waiting room, exhaustion clear on her face and the same shutters behind her eyes that have been there since they’d been picked up from the mountain. Out of all of them, she and Mike have been called back into the interview rooms the most, for good reason; they’d spent the most time in the mines, in the Sanatorium, had the most close encounters with the horrors on the mountain.

It’s the first time since they’d been shepherded off the helicopters that all of them are in the same room, all but Jessica, who’s only been back once to get something to eat before heading back to the medic bay.

There’s something of a stiffness to Sam’s posture that relaxes when she sits down, lets out a long sigh and puts her fingers to her temples, massaging them, and Chris finds himself sitting up a little to look at her.

“Are you..?” he starts, but there’s no way to really finish that question, nor a way for her to answer it, because they both already know that none of them are _‘okay’_.

She looks over with a wry smile anyway, clearly seeing the reasons he hadn’t continued, and she doesn’t bother to hide the hint of sarcasm in her answer. “I’m fine.”

Sighs again, slumps back in her chair, eyes trained on the ceiling.

“They don’t believe us. About the Wendigos. Not that they’ve got another explanation for what happened, but…”

He nods. “Yeah.” And neither of them speak again for several minutes.

Chris is contemplating listening to his voicemail messages when Sam says quietly, almost as if she’s talking to herself, “It was Hannah, down there.”

He looks at her, not quite understanding the jump, and Sam takes a deep breath before she continues.

“The Wendigo, it… it had her tattoo. And when we were down there, when we found where it had taken him…”

Chris jolts as he realises what she’s talking about. _Him. Josh._ _Down in the mines._

“…he kept talking like someone was down there with him. And Mike told me, when it- Josh called her name, and it didn’t kill him, almost like it recognised him.”

“Sam.” He grits out, because though part of him wants desperately to understand everything that had happened down there, another much bigger part of him aches just at the thought of what Josh must have gone through. And even if the Wendigo _was_ Hannah, it had still killed people, tried to kill them all, and if Josh had still been alive-

_"First, the Wendigo, it’ll render you immobile. Then it strips the skin off your entire body, piece by piece, keeps you alive and aware…"_

He has to physically shake his head to stop the memory of the Stranger’s words continuing. Sam’s looking at him too knowingly, sympathy in her gaze, and Chris stares at his phone, unfocused.

“Chris-”

His phone buzzes loudly in his hand, and he’s so startled he almost drops it, fumbling to keep it steady and read the number. It’s another unknown landline, different from the one that had called before, and though he’s not necessarily in the mood to talk to god knows who it is calling, it’s an easy way of stopping Sam continuing their conversation, however cowardly.

He hits the answer button, holds it up to his ear.

“Hello?”

There’s no reply; the line’s a bit crackly, and then there’s an odd whooshing sound that only happens when someone breaths out directly into the speaker. Chris is about to hang up when he hears something else, a small noise, and there’s no reason for what his mind jumps to, no stopping the name that comes to his lips of its own accord, when it’s been at the front of his mind for so long.

“Josh?” he asks, barely a whisper, and the noise comes again, a distinct choked sob, then-

_“Hey bro…”_

It’s like an electric shock runs through him, and he launches to his feet, startling everyone in the room with the movement, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t care because it’s _Josh’s voice_.

“ _Fuck_ , Josh, _oh my god_ , you’re- _are you okay?!_ ” he asks desperately. “Where are you, man?”

 _“I’m… Blackwood Pines, pretty sure…”_ he’s speaking slowly, like he’s having to work at focusing his words. _“at a goddamn convenience store. Chris…”_

He takes a deep breath at his name, closing his eyes. “Josh, man, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice,” he admits, ignoring how everyone else in the room is listening into his half of the conversation. “and I am _so sorry_ bro, I-I tried to come back for you, but the Wendigo-”

Sam puts a hand on his arm, and Chris breaks off, startles, and when he looks at her she’s staring back at him like he’s lost his mind.

“Chris?” she asks slowly, calmly, as if he’s a wild animal easily spooked. She gestures at the phone. “Who’s-?”

“It’s him,” he grins down at her, probably a little manic, and when she still looks disbelieving, he repeats himself. “It’s Josh, Sam, he’s alive.”

She stares at him, mouth open, but to her credit snaps into action mode pretty quickly, determination settling onto her features. “Where is he?”

He can almost see the cogs turning in her mind, the planning that had got them through the night, tries to focus himself. “Here, somewhere, hang on- Josh?” he asks into the phone, suddenly terrified at the lack of noise coming through from the other end, and when there’s no immediate reply his stomach drops rapidly down to somewhere around his feet. “ _Josh_?”

 _“Here… I’m here…”_ Chris lets out a breath, relief washing back over him, though now there’s a mounting concern over how weak Josh’s voice is.

“Josh, where are you exactly?” he tries to channel confidence through his words. “We’ll come get you.”

_“Right here, Christopher, I’ll always be right here.”_

He has to smother a laugh at the fact that Josh is quoting even now, and Chris can picture Josh holding out a finger to his chest, eyes wide in an ET impersonation. Focus, focus, “You said a convenience store, right Josh? Is there a street name or- give me something, bro, c’mon.”

Another pause, but Chris can hear Josh breathing, so he waits, catches Sam out of the corner of his eye going to talk to the officer outside the room, the others sitting up and alert, split focus between Chris and Sam.

 _“Gas station nearby.”_ Josh murmurs into his ear, and lets out another long breath before dropping his voice even further. _“Chris, I’m sorry…”_

“It’s okay,” Chris says immediately. They can apologise to each other later, face to face, once he can see Josh with his own eyes, know he’s safe. “Just hold on, Josh, we’re coming to get you.”

The call clicks off midway; Chris doesn’t know why, whether it means anything bad, and he hurries over to where Sam’s arguing with the officer, Mike and Matt at her shoulders, Ashley and Emily standing a little back.

“He’s at a convenience store near a gas station in the town. He got cut off.” Chris raises his voice over them, and when they just look back he throws his arms out in exasperation. “What are we waiting for, let’s go get him!”

It takes an infuriatingly long time for the officers at the station to get moving, but with some persuading from Mike and a sly comment about the poor response-time of Blackwood Pines in emergencies from Emily, they eventually decide on one of the senior officers to head out, and Chris, Sam, and Mike manage to talk their way into coming along.

Chris keeps his phone clenched in his hand the entire time, checks and double-checks the battery and reception, fidgets as the car makes it’s way _entirely_ _too slowly_ through the town. There are a couple of stores that could fit the bill, even in such a small town, but when they drive by them they’re near deserted.

It’s the store right on the outskirts of the town, on the main road that would take them back to Blackwood Mountain, and Chris spots the slumped figure in the phone booth first, has thrown the door open before the car has even stopped. By some miracle he doesn’t trip, keeps his eyes on the booth, hears Sam and Mike and the officer yelling behind him.

He throws himself down with a shout of his name, hands going immediately to plaid-clad shoulders, trying his best to be gentle when he remembers the stab wound Ashley had dealt, shakes his friend lightly and desperately watches to see if he’s even breathing.

Josh looks smaller, somehow, hunched down as he is, and covered with cuts and dirt and dried blood. The bruise that Chris had put there himself has turned dark, and Chris brings a gentle hand up to Josh’s cheek, relief flooding through him when his chest rises up when he takes a breath, and a miniscule twitch of a smile appears on Josh’s face.

“Chris…”

“We’ve got you, bro,” Mike and Sam have caught up with him, and he doesn’t have to ask before Mike is moving to help. “I’ve got you.”

Chris gets an arm around Josh’s waist, half-lifting him, and Mike takes his other side; together they get him propped up, get his feet on the ground, and Sam guides them back to the car, murmurs a reassurance. The back door’s still open, so Chris slides himself in, bringing Josh after him, Mike lowering him down and making sure he doesn’t hit his head on the top of the car. Chris nods at him when he’s got Josh into the middle, leaning against him. “It’s okay, I’ve got him.”

“You sure?” Mike asks, and Chris nods again, recognising that this is Mike’s own way of setting things right, after the last time when he left- when he _couldn’t_ save Josh.

It’s likely been haunting Mike just as much as it has Chris, that they’d all managed to escape, to be saved, all except Josh. And that one had been on Mike alone, that time in the mines, though Chris still feels like he owns a fair share of that blame too, for leaving Josh in the shed, for not being quick enough to get back to him, for not seeing it all coming months ago.

“Yeah,” he says, meets Mike’s eyes, tries to communicate that he gets it, shooting him a brief smile that’s returned with no small amount of relief mixed in. “We’re fine.”

Chris keeps his arm around Josh, holding him upright as he fastens his seatbelt for him, and Sam slides in on the other side while Mike gets into the front passenger seat. She meets Chris’s eyes briefly –there’s less of the haunted look in her now, something Chris feels himself, now that Josh has been found, now that they know they haven’t abandoned anyone to the mountain again- and speaks quietly to Josh, who still hasn’t opened his eyes but tilts his head to her voice.

“Josh? How you doing?”

And Josh looks so worn out, beaten up and broken down, but he’s alive, he’s safe, and he doesn’t sound so awful when he replies, “Terrific, Sammy.”

On the drive back to the station, Josh falls asleep on Chris’s shoulder.

Mike speaks with the officer in front, trying to find out what’s going to happen now, Sam chipping in to say that Josh should be given time to rest before being interviewed, but Chris tunes the conversation out, keeps his eyes on his friend, raking over his familiar features and taking note of every different injury he can see, and lets the weight on his shoulder ground him.

Josh shifts in his sleep but doesn’t wake up when Chris slides him out of the back of the car, and Mike takes the other side again, the two of them picking Josh up and carrying him into the station. Sam’s gone ahead to tell the others, and when they reach the waiting room the overhead lights have been turned off, a couple of low-light table lamps switched on instead. They manage to get Josh propped up against Chris again, sitting in two chairs pushed together, and then Mike leaves them to talk to the others.

It’s not the most comfortable position, but he’s been through enough in the past twenty-four or so hours that he can’t care too much.

Perspective is an odd thing.

 


End file.
